Exit Wounds
by Wonder Squint
Summary: Max couldn't give him an answer – she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing it; he didn't deserve it. Set during the start of Season 3.


_Although the new season has yet to start, we have enough information to go on and I was able to write this as close to canon as possible. I'm aware most of my one-shots are now part of "No Matter How They Toss The Dice", but you'll notice that the one-shots I wrote during season 2's broadcast are individual, meaning I'll do the same for the fics I write for season 3 while it airs. I hope that makes sense, but anyway, please read, review and enjoy._

_Title Prompt: "Exit Wounds" by The Script – Mike bears the consequences (wounds) of leaving (exit)._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights go to FOX._

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><p><strong>EXIT WOUNDS<strong>

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><p>The elevator chimes ceremoniously as it reaches the ground floor of the Bureau. The doors swing open and Mike steps out in search of his new partner. Instead, he finds Max standing in the foyer. She's wearing a tailored grey pantsuit, her new FBI badge tucked against her belt. He always loved that procedurally sophisticated look on her.<p>

Mike approaches her warily, uncertain what to say once he does. They had spoken only briefly at Agent Mendez' wedding and the conversation after Ryan was attacked was hardly convivial. She'd left soon after her Uncle was dragged home by his new girlfriend, Gwen. Mike would've offered to take Max home had it not been for her new boyfriend. And oh, how that stung.

Despite not having had hopes otherwise, it hurt to see her with someone else. _Did you expect her to wait for you?_ The voice in his head taunted him. No, but he had indeed dared to hope she might have.

"Hey," he starts simply as he came up behind her.

Max turns slightly to acknowledge his presence but says nothing, turning her gaze back to the entrance. Ryan was there, hugging Gwen and her daughter. Both of whom saw him off to work each day.

"He seems happy." Mike remarks, recalling Ryan's speech at the wedding reception two nights prior. There had been a significant amount of conviction in his words; a reflection of contentment as he explained his joy in finding the love of a good woman. "Finally, right?" He adds, not expecting a reply.

Max scoffs, accompanied with an involuntary roll of her eyes. How could it be that a simple word had so much memory and meaning tied to it? The sudden recollecting force of one particular memory almost caused her to weep. Almost. She hadn't shed a tear over him during the four months he had been in Europe - she wouldn't let them fall now.

Apparently, Mike hadn't understood the underlying depth of his words, or rather word. "What?" He asks curiously, seemingly oblivious.

"Never mind." Max responds quicker than she ought to, eager to change the subject. She refused to discuss it with him - _not that there's anything to talk about_. But if there was, she wouldn't. She didn't have the heart to - it was gone.

Mike watched her face carefully, hoping to find something, anything on her features that may tell him that she was hurting just as much as he was. Though, of course, he couldn't wish that agony upon her.

Moments pass and when he opens his mouth to speak, Ryan approaches them, "What are you two doing down here? Shouldn't you be upstairs, putting your tech-savvy heads together in research mode?"

"I'm waiting to meet my new partner." Max informs her uncle.

"Wait..." Mike begins, "_I'm_ waiting for _my_ new partner..." he adds confused.

"They didn't tell you?" Ryan asks, addressing them both.

They didn't have to ask. By the amused look on the eldest Agent's face, they could figure it out for themselves. "Seriously? Don't they know our history?" Max inquires, hoping there had been some sort of mistake. Surely, she and Mike weren't to be partners. Wasn't there a strict 'No Fraternisation' rule in place? Or did that only apply to current fraternisers? She hoped not, welcoming anything that spoke against their partnership.

Ryan shrugs, "They know that you work best together. They don't care about anything else - as long you get the job done." He explains, not unreasonably.

His niece groans, huffing as she walks away in pursuit of her now shared office.

Mike watches her walk away with an incredibly pitiful frown on his face. He wasn't insulted by her grievance in working alongside him, rather he understood it – it was going to be awkward for the both of them, at least until she forgave him. However, he knew there was a better chance of finding Mark than there was in being forgiven.

The elder man noticed how dejected Mike was looking and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He didn't know what to say to comfort him, so he didn't bother trying, "Come on. We've got work to do." Ryan says before ushering Mike toward the elevator, following Max.

Later on the day, when Ryan had left early to go home, both Mike and Max continued working until the clock read 8 PM.

"Are you busy later?" Max asks suddenly.

Mike's head snaps up to look at her over his laptop. Her eyes were focussed on the screen in front of her, avoiding his gaze, but were waiting for an answer just the same.

"No, why?" he replies calmly, not wanting to let on how glad he was that she finally decided to speak to him, however brief.

"Come to ou- my place. There's something's I want to give you." Her slip up didn't go unnoticed by Mike. They had been sharing an apartment for five months before he left. She likely hadn't gotten used to the idea that he wasn't coming home, at least not to her. He felt the urge to say something witty, wanting to see her smile, but he quickly decided against it. It was doubtful that she was partial to jests about how they ended things, because he certainly wasn't.

Max gets up to leave and he agrees to follow shortly after. She gets home around 8:45 and Mike knocks at her door fifteen minutes later. She doesn't mention how keen he seemed to get there and instead, opens the door to let him in, "I'll be right back." She tells him, disappearing into the bedroom. Normally she'd offer guests something to drink but, though invited, she didn't want to give him the idea that he could stay longer than he ought to.

Left alone, Mike occupied himself by reminiscing. Max hadn't changed much about the quaint Brooklyn apartment – the décor was the same; even the furniture was in the same place. His eyes flashed to the armchair which they had argued endlessly about regarding to its position in the lounge. Mike liked to have it facing the window and Max thought it looked stupid. More often than not, he let her have her way but in this, he refused to relent. Now, he was surprised to find it hadn't been moved.

_**Three and a half months earlier...**_

While his niece was getting ready, Ryan waited impatiently in the living room, "Come on, Max. Gwen's waiting to meet us." He yells, hurrying her.

"Just a second!" she called back, still refusing to rush herself. His girlfriend could wait for all she cared, still bitter about having lost her own boyfriend.

When she eventually appeared, she found Ryan turning the armchair away from the window. "No!" she reprimanded, halting him, "Put it back."

Ryan gave her a bemused look, "But it's facing the wrong way, Max." He defends. She remembers having said the same to Mike months ago when he first positioned it there.

Max moved toward her uncle, ushering him out of the way to fix the chair herself. She plumped the cushion and stood back, staring down at it as it faced the window – the way Mike had preferred. "No, it's not." She breathes, content that it remain there.

_**Present day**_

The one thing that had been moved however was his pictures. He liked to dabble in photography now and then, and his camera was filled with pictures of Max – he only took photos of the things he loved, after all. The one's she liked had been of the both of them and he had them framed, placed lovingly in their home. Now they were gone, leaving behind a mantelpiece void of their photographed memory. Then he noticed one remained – one of Ryan, Max and himself, taken on the Oak Bridge at Central Park on Max's birthday. She probably kept it there because her Uncle was in it and they all knew how he seldom posed for a picture. But Mike hoped regardless that his being there also was partially why she didn't take it down.

Finally, Max emerges from the bedroom holding a large box with Mike's name sharpied onto the cardboard, "I packed all of your things." She tells him and places it on the couch, "I was going to send it to your Mom, but I didn't want to upset her." She frowns and folds her arms over her chest. She remembers Mrs Weston calling her the day after Mike had left, demanding an explanation for the farewell voicemail he left her. Max only wished she could've given her one.

"You have seen her since you've been back, right?" she asks, her desire to know genuine. Although she and Mike weren't together anymore, she had made a point to keep in touch with his mother over the past four months. During the second phone call, she had asked Max, in a fit of tears, if she could be pregnant. "If you are, he'd come back home." She had cried hopelessly and Max almost began to wish she was. That same day she outright refused to pine for him.

Mike shakes his head, "No. I came straight to the wedding once I got back," he explains, "I did call her though."

Max nods. That was fair as long as his mother wasn't finding out he was back in the country from someone else.

A silence grows between them as Mike glances down at the contents of the box, "Did you find-"

She cuts him off, "Yes, I did." Knowing what he meant. She didn't want to think about it any longer. After all, she had spent too many nights considering the _what if's_ and _could be's_ had he only decided to stay. It was regret didn't need to feel.

"Okay." Says Mike simply, getting up and moving towards the door with his box of things he wished she'd want to keep.

He opens the door and turns back before he steps into the hallway, "Max?"

Max sighs wearily, "What?"

"If I had… you know. What would've been your answer?"

She stares at him for a moment, deciding how to respond. She could say nothing and bid him a good night, but she felt an overwhelming need to tell him something. "You know what it would've been, Mike." It was all that Max was willing to say. She couldn't give him a straight answer – she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing it; he didn't deserve it.

She didn't need to however because she was right, he did know.

_Yes_, his mind answers for her. She would've said yes.

He didn't know whether to smile in delight or weep in regret as he stared down at the small, velvet box among the other things she'd discarded from her life.

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><p><em>I hope that was clear enough to understand, but if not, I apologise for the vagueness. Thank you for reading.<em>


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